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“In the windowpane I caught a glimpse of myself: fat, badly-dressed, the seams on my skirt about to burst, my hair in need of a trim, my shoes run down at the heels, yet for once I didn't give a damn. I thought of how anxious I had been about this city, its intimidating chic, its hostile shopkeepers, Simone de Beauvoir's opinion of me, my clothes, my hairdo, my weight, my inability to speak the language properly. "Bonjour, Madame," I said to the proprietor in my fractured French. "Deux litres du lait, s'il vous plait." Why do we always worry about the wrong things, I wondered?” — Joyce Elbert
In the windowpane I caught a glimpse of myself: fat, badly-dressed, the seams on my skirt about to burst, my hair in need of a trim, my shoes run down at the heels, yet for once I didn't give a damn. I thought of how anxious I had been about this city, its intimidating chic, its hostile shopkeepers, Simone de Beauvoir's opinion of me, my clothes, my hairdo, my weight, my inability to speak the language properly. "Bonjour, Madame," I said to the proprietor in my fractured French. "Deux litres du lait, s'il vous plait."
Why do we always worry about the wrong things, I wondered?